


(men who love) men who move mountains

by backjeanpocket



Category: Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Childhood Friends, Community: poetry_fiction, Fuck It! Ferris Bueller Poetry, Gen, M/M, POV Cameron Frye, Pining, Poetry, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:53:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25619173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backjeanpocket/pseuds/backjeanpocket
Summary: cameron pines over ferris at the movie theater.
Relationships: Ferris Bueller/Cameron Frye
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	(men who love) men who move mountains

**Author's Note:**

> it's 2020,, anything can happen,, here's some ferris bueller poetry

i've seen men who move mountains on the screens at the weekend matinees

men with silver tongues and iron wills, turning earth to gold

and i've also seen them in the empty seat i save

when you don't show

out there writing your own stories on your feet

and i wonder where the men who love the men who move mountains are

and whether the men who move mountains

go to the movies with them

or not

and how like me, absenting myself, waiting in the dark

while behind the projection window,

busy, purposed hands feed a spool into the reel

_ (because telling someone’s story is a story too a story too a story too) _

unfurl a ribbon of a life

and as for mine,

i think i left it in a bedside pillbox

choked it off with the cuff of a wrist monitor

and wouldn't know it now by the face it wears

when it says yes

or doesn’t when it says  _ no  _ and  _ no  _ and  _ i can’t _

and the yes is spooled out anyway

see, the things you need

for a high-wire act

are the feet on the wire

and the feet on the ground that

love the feet on the wire but

love the ground too and

will wait on the pavement

to be seen on the pavement

not being the feet on the wire

what i mean is i am not a moving picture

but i might be a mirror

what i mean is i know the men who part seas from the book of exodus

and when i sink

to the tiles

and look up at the sky—

which is to say, you—

quivering behind the film of the surface

then bursting forth—

like shattering a window

like meeting me on the ground—

are you parting the seas

or disrupting my reflection?

and is there any difference between the two?

the thing is

i don't know how to insist upon myself

and i never know what the men on the screens are saying

too busy deciding how to turn you down

the next time the next time the next time

you call

some lives are altars to other lives

and some homes are altars to the absent things

_ (myself, myself, my life, a face, your feet) _

which is to say i’m sick

which is to say i’m hungry

which is to say

i’m more than i can say

i still think about that day

in the weekend matinee

when you stopped writing your own stories on your feet

and sat watching the men with silver tongues and iron wills

move mountains

with me

and at the plot twist you turned to me

said _ "cheap trick" _

your breath hot in my ear

told me

_ "we could write a better ending" _

and what i meant to say was

"when can we start?"

_(because we can be a story too a story too a story too)_

but what i did instead was try to move the mountain

and try to mount the wire

and try to press my mouth to yours

and hunger is a kind of sickness too, isn't it?

and there’s an empty seat

and the lights come up

and the credits roll

and when i make my final dive

i hope i'll have hitched my rocket tight to your star

as it hurtles away

so i'll have no choice but to burn out in the air


End file.
